But to know Hoffman’s successes, one must appreciate his obstacles. Like going from a big-arm, no-hit shortstop to losing his impressive fastball in a surfing mishap, to perfecting the slow dance of his signature change-up.

Plus, when he reached the Padres in 1993 after being acquired from the Florida Marlins, locals burned by the notorious fire sale embraced Hoffman as if he were wearing a Dodgers hat.

“It was a bit scary coming over to San Diego,” Hoffman said.

To accentuate his uncomfortable status, he was kicked around in his first couple of outings. But Hoffman, a Rancho Santa Fe resident, proceeded to do what he always did: put his head down and get to work.

“I can picture him with that doctor’s smock he used to wear when doing his running before games,” said Tony Gwynn, an ex-Hoffman teammate and also a Breitbard Hall of Fame member. “He worked hard, and that’s why he had the career he had.”

What a ride, and one that Qualcomm Stadium and Petco Park concessionaires relished. Fans often stayed until the game’s conclusion, just to catch Hoffman’s ninth-inning act. It was a marriage of rock ‘n’ roll and pitch-and-catch that other closers couldn’t match.

It was a long way from Hoffman batting .210 in the minors. Funny, his path to greatness was paved by the Padres’ greatest hitter.

“When he came over, we were standing in the field one day and I told him, ‘These guys didn’t get you to be the set-up guy; you’re going to be the closer,’” Gwynn predicted, and, of course, he smacked that one square as well.

“When he first got here, he threw hard, then hurt his arm and developed that change-up,” Gwynn said. “As his velocity went down, he really learned how to pitch, and the rest is history. I loved the way he went about his business.”

Hoffman’s duties now are a mixture of having an impact on and off the field. As a special assistant to Padres President Tom Garfinkel, Hoffman helps younger pitchers during camp, scouts in the run-up to the draft, and serves as a club ambassador.

While his No. 51 is retired, Hoffman isn’t, although his new role allows more family time with his wife, Tracy, and their sons, Wyatt, Brody and Quinn.

“They deserve to have Dad around,” Hoffman said.

Father knows best, and ditto those putting him in the HOF. Hoffman doesn’t take the honor lightly. Not after attending a meeting years ago at the Hall of Champions with Breitbard, Gwynn and Ted Williams.

Hoffman was in awe then, and is now.

Breitbard and Williams, friends from Hoover High, had plenty to chat about. Gwynn and Williams, brothers as hitters, debated the advantages of pulling a ball.

That left Hoffman being seen but not heard.

“It was some good banter,” Hoffman said. “But being a pitcher, I didn’t have much to say.”

He can’t say enough about entering the HOF.

“It’s the ultimate feather in my cap to be recognized in a city that I played over 15 years in,” Hoffman said. “And I understand what it meant to Bob. It is a revered place.”

A place in Balboa Park where the writing on the wall reads: Trevor Hoffman.